


holding on to you

by everywordnotsaid



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Gen, M/M, mostly friends being friends, super angsty cus i love pain, super slight josh/tyler if you squint, written mostly at ungodly hours of the morning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5733811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's hard to be okay, sometimes it's hard to pretend. Sometimes it feels easier to step off the diving board, sometimes it's easier to let go then to hold on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	holding on to you

He realizes in an interview. He realizes in front of another talking face behind a microphone, sitting on a sticky vinyl couch beside Tyler. He doesn’t even remember what city they were in, every place blending together into a blur of skyscrapers and dark rooms, the quiet heat of the back of their tour bus and echoing cavernous arenas. It’s like any other of the hundreds of interviews he must have done by now, he and Tyler mess around and answer the hosts questions with the most amusing answers they can think of. It’s going well, they’re both in a good mood and laughing when the man, Tyler thinks his name his name is Eric (he doesn’t know why that is seared into his memory) asks, “Who would you be interested in collaborating with?”

 

It’s a throw away question, it really doesn’t mean anything and Tyler jokingly answers

 

“Oh you know, there’s this drummer from another band who I’ve just been dying to play some music with.” And something grates inside Josh, even though it means nothing, even though it isn’t true something digs at him and he clears his throat and shifts, trying to shake off the feeling. Tyler looks at him, his face is serious but Josh can see the smile in his eyes, the slight tug of his lips. It’s his turn, to make a funny joke, laugh it off and so he fulfills the expectation.

 

“Well, there’s this rapper/singer/songwriter/keyboardist/ukulele/tambourine player that I’ve been wanting to do some work with.” And even as the words spill from his lips and Tyler and Eric laugh a sick feeling settles in his stomach because he realizes now what was bothering him. He’s a drummer. That’s what he does, and Josh doesn’t indulge in false modesty, he’s not afraid to say he’s a good one (he’s spent to much time and energy and broken snares and broken hopes to not be) but he’s not great. He’s no Keith Moon, no Dave Grohl or John Bonham, he’s just a kid who wasn’t good at much else so he decided to be good at this. And there’s hundreds of drummers in the world, some worse then him but many better and in that way he’s expendable. There’s only one Tyler in the world though. Only one rapper/singer/ songwriter/ keyboardist/ukulele/tambourine player in the world. Only one person who sings the words that Tyler does. He needs Tyler in many more ways then one, but does Tyler need him? He’s never doubted their partnership or friendship before, confident that things would never change for them, riding the heady wave of success and the taste of childhood dreams coming true. Today though, sitting on this sticky vinyl couch in this nameless city he does for the first time. He doesn’t like the feeling.

 

* * *

 

 The worst part about it for him is that he should be happy, his life is as close to perfect as it gets. He’s doing what he loves and he’s succeeding in it. He’s in a band with his best friend, they’re playing to sold out arena’s and now they even have a tour bus not a van (a crowning achievement of their career). They were on a roller coaster that reached into the sky, and riding it to the end. He didn’t have a girlfriend, but his last relationship had ended badly enough that he’s satisfied with the single life for now. He should be happy and mostly he is, but there’s a worm deep in his stomach. It’s small at first but it’s getting bigger, eating away at the lining of his stomach and curling deep into the cavity between his liver and his small intestines, and there it grows and grows. It feeds on his fear and uncertainty, gorges on the thought that maybe, just maybe _he wasn’t good enough._ And the worm is doubt, insidious and toxic and addictive. Like a scab he can’t stop picking at, even if he knows it’ll scar.

Some nights, when it’s dark and quiet and the heavy air is pressing down on him in his coffin of a bunk he presses his fingers into the skin of his abdomen, traces the dips and curves between each of his ribs and imagines he can feel it curled and poisonous like a tumor. On those nights, when not even Tyler is awake to hear his whispers he feeds it, and his tongue is sticky with guilt but it feels good to hear the words echo against the wall of his bunk. His life now is so exposed, so gutted and discussed and dissected that it feels good to have something secret, to have something that’s his. So he whispers and it grows and all the while he wonders why he can’t just be _happy_.

 

* * *

  

They’re in a hotel in Seattle, they’re successful enough now to have their own rooms but neither of them like the idea of being apart, it feels wrong. Just like the first time they were given separate dressing rooms before a show had felt wrong. That time after sitting in his empty white room for 15 minutes Josh had given up and decided to head to Tyler’s. He opened the door to find Tyler on the other side with a sheepish look on his face, hand raised and ready to knock. They never did get separate dressing rooms after that.

 

So here they are in their shared hotel room. Tyler’s sitting at a desk with his laptop in front of him, ukulele in his lap he strums away. Josh is lying on the couch across from him, long frame stretched out across the cushions with his feet just dangling over the end. Jokingly he tosses a pillow at Tyler’s head.

 

“Can you cut it out man, I’m trying to nap here y’know.”

 

Tyler laughs and throws the pillow back, saying, “Hey, that’s no way to talk to the lead singer. You’re walking the line here buddy, one more mistake and you’re out of the band.” And Josh knows it’s a joke, knows because Tyler’s smiling and this has happened a hundred times before, hell he’s kicked Tyler out of the band plenty of times before but that’s not the point. It’s a joke now and maybe the next time and the time after that but now Josh is waiting for the moment it isn’t. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, when Tyler doesn’t smile and laugh and with five words takes away Josh’s everything all at once.

 

The silence between them stretches on and on and Josh knows Tyler knows something is off, because any other time he would have laughed and sniped something right back. But not tonight, not now, so he’s silent and Tyler turns with a strange look on his face and suddenly Josh has to leave because he doesn’t want to talk to Tyler about this, doesn’t want the questions to start. So he gets up, all rushed limbs and his breath is catching in his throat like it’s made of glass. He mumbles something about needing air, and he’s out the door before Tyler has the chance to open his mouth and even as he leaves he wonders why he’s running.

 

Walking along the dark streets of downtown Seattle he shivers and shoves his hands farther into the pockets of his jeans, he’d been in such hurry to get out that he’d left his jacket, and now he’s realizing his phone. He’s not at all familiar with Seattle so he wanders aimlessly, letting his feet take him wherever. He ends up at the base of the space needle. He would’ve gone up, but he’d also forgotten his wallet so instead he walks farther, past a blocky grey building and white tile pavilion till he reaches a fountain. It sits in a deep dip in the field, and it’s honestly pretty ugly in his opinion, a huge dome of angled silver spouting jets of water. He’s the only one there, and he’s afraid if he walks much farther he won’t find his way back to the hotel so he stops and sits on the low polished stone wall which wraps around the fountain. A slight breeze pushes spray into his face and he watches the metal monstrosity glistens in the moonlight.

 

He hates that he’s running from Tyler, running from his best friend. As long as they’ve known each other there’s been no secrets between them, Josh told Tyler everything and Tyler told Josh everything and somehow it had worked. Josh had told Tyler that sometimes his throat closed and his breath stopped when he stared at a crowd of faces, and Tyler told him about the nights he wanted to go to sleep and maybe not wake up. They knew each other like family, maybe even more because there’s something’s you don’t tell family, you can’t. They told each other everything and now Josh was keeping secrets and it was wrong, he felt it in his bones but what else could he do? How could he tell Tyler, that, essentially, he didn’t trust him. How could he explain why ‘I’m kicking you out of the band’ wasn’t funny anymore, why he was so afraid. He didn’t know how to ask “do you still need me, do you still want me, am I good enough?” Doesn’t know how to say that the questions are always on the tip of his tongue like bullets, just waiting for his fingers to slip on the trigger, waiting to tear through flesh and bone and blood and find truth. Doesn’t know how to explain that he’s afraid of the truth they might find.

 

And suddenly everything’s building in his chest, he feels like a soda can that’s been shaken to long and to hard and he’s on the brink of tearing himself apart. He wants to scream, cry, wants to break something but he can’t so instead he runs. Down the sloping concrete of the basin, almost slipping on the slick rock and runs to the fountain and presses his hands against it’s metal skin. Presses his forehead against its angles and lets icy water fall against his back.

 

When he gets back into the hotel room Tyler’s in the same place he left him, uke still sitting in his lap. There’s a tenseness to his shoulders that dissolves when Josh walks back in though that wasn’t there when Josh left. He doesn’t ask where he’s been, why his shirt is wet, all he says is “you forgot your jacket.” Josh shrugs, avoiding his eyes

 

“It wasn’t that cold.”

 

Tyler snorts, “Yeah, and you just decided that blue lipstick looked good on you.”

Josh doesn’t reply, just walks to the bathroom and grabs a towel, numb fingers rubbing it shakily against his hair. When he looks in the mirror he sees a face he doesn’t recognize.

 

“I texted you.”

 

Tyler’s voice sounds behind him and he nearly jumps. “Yeah, I forgot my phone.” He’s surprised at how rough his voice sounds, surprised at how the words catch at his throat.

 

“Is everything… good with you?” Tyler’s voice is quiet, hesitant and when Josh turns to him he sees concern written in every line of his body. And right in that moment it would be so easy to tell him everything, to pull the tab and let all the doubt and fear and anger spill out but even as he opens his mouth the worm shifts in his stomach, Tyler’s words _you’re out of the band_ echo in his ears and he closes it again.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a walk.” And he can see in Tyler’s eyes that he’s not convinced, sees that Tyler knows that’s a lie (he doesn’t expect anything less from his best friend) but he’s never been one to pry, so he nods and turns back to his computer. Josh pulls off his wet shirt and pants, falling into bed and pulling the covers over his head. He doesn’t sleep though, instead he listens to Tyler pick away at the ukulele for a bit, listens as he brushes his teeth and switches off the light before climbing into bed, and wonders at how even though they could reach their arms across the space between them and brush fingers he’s never felt further from Tyler in his life. He doesn’t fall asleep until he hears Tyler’s breathing even and gentle.

  

* * *

 

 

After a whirlwind of cites and countries and faces their tour finally ends, and for a while they’re left to themselves. They end up spending more time in the studio then usual, ironing out little details, working till each song is perfect. And he knows Tyler can feel the frenetic energy spilling out of Josh, can see the desperation in his eyes when he asks if they can go to the studio again, how his voice breaks when he asks for one more song, but he doesn’t say anything and for that Josh loves him.

 

He’s in their practice room with Tyler, they’ve been there for hours now. Josh can see Tyler is getting tired even if he tries to hide it, see’s the little yawns and inconspicuous stretches. He appreciates Tyler staying, because he knows Josh wants to but he doesn’t want to keep him here. “You can go home, it’s fine.” Tyler looks at him, a little surprised.

 

“I’m good, we should keep going.”

 

And Josh can’t help but smile and thank god he has such a good friend but he tells him to go anyways. Tyler looks at him uncertainly, eyebrows creased

 

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

 

Josh nods his head

 

“I’m sure, just want to get a couple more hours in.”

 

But he isn’t sure, not really. And even as Tyler packs up his stuff and pulls on his jacket he wonders if he’s really sure of anything anymore. He misses the times when he was, sure Tyler needed him as much as he needed Tyler, sure the band was going to last forever, sure of himself and what he wanted. He’s not so sure about any of it anymore and it makes him sick to his stomach.

 

Just as he’s walking out the door Tyler turns to him, that little concerned look on his face again

 

“Hey, don’t stay to late okay? And call me if you need anything.”

 

And Josh wishes he could just say everything he needed, wishes he could ask Tyler to tell him he was needed but the words are heavy in his throat so he just nods and says

 

“Yeah, I will.” (and he knows he won’t)

 

Then with a final glance Tyler is gone and he’s alone. The truth is he doesn’t want to go home, home to his empty apartment where there is nothing to distract him from himself. Doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts and the worm in his stomach and all the doubt, and at least here there’s something to do to keep his mind from wandering. When he drums, for a little while he can lose himself in the beat, the burning of his arms and for that little while he forgets. It’s a temporary fix but it’s the only one Josh has. So like an addict seeking his next fix he continues and he craves.

 

There’s a mirror that hangs on the wall across from Josh’s drum set. Neither of them know why it’s there, it had been hanging when they started using this space and so they had left it. Josh didn’t use to mind it so much. Tyler always told him that he loved to watch Josh play, tells him he’s a different person when he sits behind his drums. Josh had liked to watch himself in the mirror as he practiced, trying to catch a glimpse of the person Tyler saw. It had been encouraging, but now it felt like his reflection was taunting him. When he watched himself in that mirror now all he could see was someone who was never quite good enough.

 

Standing he switches off the lights, letting the room settle into darkness. He makes his way back to his drums and when he looks at the mirror he sees nothing but black. And somehow that’s more comforting then light ever could be. Because in the dark there’s no one to see your scars your flaws your insecurities. In the dark there’s just you.

Picking up his drumsticks he starts. At first he’s shaky, unsure, but as he continues he lets his body relax into the familiar motions, lets muscle memory take over and just drums. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, alone in the practice room playing to chase the demons away, drumming to mask the bone deep ache in his head and hands and heart. When he finally stops his arms burn and his hands feel sweaty and slick. He gets up to switch on the lights, and when he looks at his drum sticks they’re covered in blood not sweat.

 

He sits for a long time on the worn overstuffed couch they bought at a goodwill and dragged up three flight upstairs because they liked the color. He sits and stares at his hands. They’re drummers hands, worn as the couch he’s sitting on. Underneath the blood he knows where there will be calluses, along the creases of his each of his knuckles, one for each pad where his fingers join his hands, tucked into the fleshy skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Tyler had always told him his hands were beautiful, cradling them in his own and gently tracing the new blisters and old scars. He’d said “these are the hands of someone with passion, these are the hands of somebody who cares.” And in that moment Josh had loved his blistered broken hands. Now, when he looks at them he sees the hands of someone who is falling behind.

 

* * *

 

Tyler notices, he always notices. And Josh thinks he’s pretty good at hiding things, good at concealing and covering and ignoring but he’s never been able to hide things from Tyler.

 

He doesn’t say anything, because it’s not his way. But Josh knows he notices because he sees the looks that Tyler gives his hands (searching and concerned), sees the way his lips tighten when he shows up to dinner or a recording session with new bandages on his hands, knows because a bottle of rubbing alcohol and fresh band aids are always in their studio, even though he never thinks to bring them.

 

So Tyler notices and worries and Josh keeps his hands in his pockets more often now.

 

* * *

 

His anxiety comes back. He’d been getting it under control, his breath still caught in his throat right before a show, and he still let Tyler do the talking in their interviews but he’s been getting better. Getting stronger. Now it’s back with a fucking vengeance. (It’s a rope around his neck, a weight on his tongue, a devil sitting on his chest, tapping fingers he can never stop)

 

It’s back every time they’re about to go on a radio show, interview, meet and greet. It’s back before every show and every recording and it’s back when fans come up to them on the street with to bright smiles and outstretched hands. They’re the worst, because they look at him like he’s a fucking god, like he means something to them and all he wants to scream is I’m not the one you should be following.

 

It’s a day that’s just been bad from the start. He’d slept through his alarm and hadn’t had time to eat before Tyler picked him up for a radio show they were supposed to appear on, then they’d been late because a of an accident ahead of them on the freeway (Josh hates being late) and then the interviewer asks about his relationship status. He blinks and sees blonde curls and dark eyes and hears _goodbye_ echoing in his ears like machine gun fire and for a few seconds his voice is trapped in his throat, and it’s just a few seconds but it might have well been a few eternities. Tyler jumps in with a bad joke about the wonders of tinder and Josh pulls himself together and smiles but the damage has been done. He couldn’t stop his fucking hand from shaking the rest of the interview, even when Tyler gripped his leg under the table with firm gentle fingers. So it wasn’t even 1:00 and the day had been shit and Josh was hungry and all he wanted was to go to Taco Bell and then collapse into bed and sleep. He was so close he could see the doors of Taco Bell shining like the gates to heaven when a kid who can’t be older then 16 or so runs up to them with that fucking look in his eyes, that look of total fucking adoration and it makes Josh want to hide.

 

“Holy shit, I love your band so much! Do you think I could get your autograph?”

 

Tyler smiles and nods, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose and takes the pen and paper the boy offered him. Josh hangs in the back and breathes and tells himself it’s fine, it’ll be fine. Tyler will do the talking and he’ll sign the paper and smile and then he can escape. But it doesn’t go like that. Instead when Tyler passes the pen to him the kid surges forward, “I just want to say that you’re such an inspiration to me. I play the drums-well I’m learning- and it’s so cool to see you being so successful and achieving your dream y’know. So yeah I just want to say thanks, you’re really helping me with my passion and I really look up to you.”

 

Each word is like a razor that slices through his skin, because he’s not a role model, not an inspiration, he’s falling apart and these kids, all these kids look up to him and he doesn’t deserve it, and he’s giving them nothing but a falsehood. His hand starts to shake, the pen jittering across the scrap of paper he’s signing and he can barely tell it’s his name as he hands it back. He can feel Tyler’s stare like a laser, burning into his trembling hands and he wants so badly to run but the kids still talking to him, keeps saying these words that Josh doesn’t want to hear and smiling and smiling and smiling and he can’t quite breath, it feels like his lungs are too small for his body. Now Tyler’s looking at him like he’s a caged animal, like he’s not sure what he’ll do next and then he’s stepping in front of him. It’s not a big gesture, just a little shift to the left and he doesn’t make it obvious but it’s enough. He smiles at the kid, his lips are moving so he must be saying something but everything sounds like it’s underwater, his vision is beginning to blur and fade at the edges.

 

It reminds him of when he was a kid, during the summer when he and his family went to the pool he’d exhale all the air in his lungs till he sank to the bottom and just sit till his breath ran out. The feeling of isolation and disconnection, watching the surface of the water ripple with sun and filter down to him. He remembers it was always peaceful at the bottom of the pool.

 

He hears a voice in his ears, it sounds far away but getting closer and louder and Josh realizes it’s calling his name. When he opens his eyes Tyler’s face is barely an inch from his and the kid is gone.

 

“Hey Josh, Josh talk to me are you okay?”

 

Tyler looks scared, actually scared and that scares Josh. He shakes his head, and gasps a little, feeling like he’d just been holding his breath. And now Tyler’s hands are on his shoulders shaking him lightly, or maybe it’s him that’s shaking, he’s not sure anymore.

 

“Josh, look at me you need to breathe okay.”

So he does, focuses on the warmth of Tyler’s hands on his shoulders, holds onto the sensation of something real and solid and takes deep rasping breathes till his head stops spinning. Tyler guides him into the Taco Bell, and he locks himself in the little bathroom and splashes cold water on his face and holds onto the sides of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn red against his pale skin.

 

When he walks out he see’s Tyler sitting at a table in the back with a plate of food and a tense look on his face. He’s so tempted to run, out the door and down the street and away from this conversation because there’s no hiding now. He can’t though, can’t run from Tyler anymore so instead he walks over, sits down, and takes a deep breath. Tyler pushes the plate over, “I thought you might be hungry.” He nods and pulls the plate over, starting to pick at the burrito bowl. They sit in the silence, Tyler staring and Josh and Josh avoiding his gaze. Finally Tyler breaks the silence “Want to talk about what happened outside?” Josh still doesn’t look up, just shrugs.

 

“I’m just having an off day, it’s no big deal I’m fine.”

It’s such a blatant lie _I’m fine_ that it makes him want to laugh, it make him want cry. Tyler isn’t buying it, he’s still giving him that stare, the one that strips away Josh’s skin and muscle and bone till he’s nothing but a beating heart and pulsing veins in front of Tyler.

 

“You’re having an off day? Josh, you almost passed out in front of a Taco Bell because some kid asked for an autograph, I wouldn’t call that fine.”

 

And Josh knows he’s right, knows he’s not fine, wonders what he’s going to do when Tyler isn’t there to hold onto his shoulders with his warm hands, isn’t there to remind him he isn’t sitting at the bottom of a pool in Columbus Ohio. He knows all these things but even as he try’s to say them they catch in his throat and his tongue won’t form sentences. He doesn’t realize he’s tapping his fingers against the plastic table-top till he feels Tyler’s hand on his, stilling the frantic motion. He finally looks up at Tyler, and his eyes are all gentleness, all understanding. “Josh please, I know something’s been wrong for a while, you can tell me. If you don’t fix this soon it’s just going to get worse. ” And Josh hears all the unspoken words, hears _I love you, I care about you, I’m here for you_ and he still doesn’t quite believe them so he whispers rough and quiet and broken

 

“I…I can’t.”

 

And Tyler doesn’t look angry or frustrated like Josh thought he would, he just looks sad. And that’s so much worse.

“Don’t you trust me?”

 

“I do, more then anyone. But I just can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

 

Tyler sighs, and it sounds defeated, sounds tired. His hand lingers on Josh’s for a moment, before he draws it back, fingers brushing across the tops of his knuckles as gently as feathers.

 

“Okay. Okay. But when you’re ready, I’m here to listen. ”

 

and then, so quietly Josh almost doesn’t hear it

“please don’t let this break you.”

 

Josh sticks his hand deep in the pocket of his sweatshirt and pretends he doesn’t miss the warmth of Tyler’s hand on his. He leaves the restaurant with an empty stomach and a bitter taste in his mouth.

  

* * *

 

 

Tyler’s right. Tyler always is. Eventually, it all goes to hell. Eventually, Josh breaks. And it happens on stage, at a live concert, in front of hundreds of people, with Josh’s luck he’s really not surprised.

 

It’s a few weeks after the Taco Bell incident, and he’d been holding himself together pretty well. He hasn’t been better, but he also hasn’t been worse and he considers that a victory. Tyler’s watching him closer now, and Josh can see the words he wants to say hovering on the tip of his tongue but every time he looks like he’s going to say something he finds a way to extract himself.

 

It’s hot on the stage, 90 something degrees and even with his shirt off he feels the fabric of his shorts clinging to his legs and his hair is damp and flat against his skull. The stage lights glare and flash in his eyes so he closes them (he can see still see the blinding flashes, burned into his retina’s) and let his memory do the work. Tyler’s voice echoes against the insides of his head till he thinks his brains are going to cave in. He opens his eyes for a moment and it’s a mistake because now he’s staring at a sea of screaming jumping sweating writhing _living_ people and the weight of the ecstasy in their eyes is crushing him like a ten ton truck. He can feel the panic rise, and the worm has grown into a snake and now it winds its way up his throat and out of his mouth and wraps itself around his neck like a noose of bitter doubt and fear. His eyes flicker back and forth across the crowd, searching for what he’s not sure. And then he see’s him, a kid who looked just like him 10 years ago, all ragged hair and ragged hopes and his eyes are still bright, still hopeful and for a second Josh swears their eyes meet. Their eyes meet and a smile spreads across the boys face like the sun coming out from behind a cloud and Josh’s fingers slip on his drumstick. He falters, misses his beat and Tyler’s still singing but now he’s looking at Josh with those concerned eyes.

He tries to keep playing but his fingers feel numb and heavy, his arms don’t move the way he wants them to. The screaming feels far away, and dimly he thinks that they want something he can’t give, even though he’s tearing himself apart trying. The air is thick and sticky like syrup and it pools in his lungs, clogs his throat till he can barely breathe.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s falling till he’s looking at the arched ceiling of the concert venue instead of his drum set, doesn’t feel the rush of air past his ears or the weightless sensation of gravity dragging his body to the ground. The stage fades away and now he’s on the edge of the diving board (it had taken him weeks to gather the courage to jump off the high one) and then he’s jumping, jumping, falling towards the ice blue pool below him. Words he heard once along time ago echo in his ears (it’s not the falling that kills you, it’s the landing) but even the thought of the ground rushing up to meet him doesn’t seem that bad anymore. It’s nice, quiet and calm and Josh thinks he could fall forever. His vision goes before he hits the ground and the last thing he hears is Tyler’s voice shouting his name.

 

He wakes up on the off white couch in the green room. There’s a pillow behind his head, a damp towel on his forehead, and Tyler sitting in a chair beside him. His friend doesn’t seem to realize he’s awake so he takes the moment to examine him, see’s the lines in his forehead, the tight lips, the way he runs his hands over his face like he’s trying to scrub away at something and he feels a pinch of guilt in his stomach.

 

He starts to sit up, wincing as he feels an ache at the back of his head. Tyler turns and when he sees him awake lets a deep breath of air escape from his lungs.

 

“Good morning sleeping beauty. You had me worried for a second there.”

 

And the joke is lighthearted and gentle but Josh can hear the tension in the words, can hear the way Tyler’s voice cracks and strains and he knows that Tyler thinks this is anything but funny.

 

“Sorry. I… it was just hot and I think I didn’t drink enough water. It won’t happen again.”

 

The words spill out all at once like a waterfall, rushing past each other to make it out first and all in all Josh feels it’s a rather unconvincing excuse.

 

“You’re right it won’t happen again, because you’re going to tell me what has been going on with you lately, you’re not leaving the room until you do.”

 

Josh looks up sharply, and a feeling of desperation starts to rise in his throat because this is his worst nightmare. He can’t, can’t, can’t (doesn’t want to) talk to Tyler about this, not now and not ever. This is his problem and he’ll deal with it his way.

 

“Look, Tyler, I’m so sorry I know this was irresponsible I promise it won’t happen again, I’m sorry I messed up the show I really didn’t mean to.”

 

Tyler gives him a look halfway between frustrated and heart broken, mouth pulled into a tight little line

 

“You really think I’m worried about the concert? That’s your concern here?”

 

“I mean, what else would it be?”

 

Tyler gives him a look

 

“How about the fact that my best friend passed out and took a nose dive off his drumset. God, Josh, you could have been really badly hurt.”

 

He can feel his hand start to shake, his fingers start to tap, can feel anxiety rising like bile in his throat (he thinks he might choke on it any second, he feels the noose starts to tighten) he can’t say anything can’t force his lips to open so instead he focuses on his hands, picking at the barely healed blisters on his palms. He can hear Tyler sigh, it sounds exasperated and exhausted all at once.

 

“Josh, please, just talk to me. This can’t go on any longer okay. I mean, what could there possibly be that you can’t talk to me about?”

 

Josh just bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, doesn’t look at Tyler or his beautiful broken face. He hears Tyler stand, hears him run his hands through his hair, exhale sharply through his teeth.

 

“I don’t know what to do Josh, you’re refusing to let me help you, to let anyone to help you. I’m just…I just don’t know want to do.”

 

When Josh finally look up all he sees is Tyler’s back, shoulders slumped and hands hanging at his sides. Something about it looks so defeated, so final and suddenly Josh is scared, so scared and Tyler’s words run through his head and he can’t help but think they sound like someone letting go. When his words finally come they come tight and tense and rushed like a rubber band that’s finally snapped.

 

“Please don’t kick me out of the band.”

 

Tyler turns,

 

“what?”

 

And now the words have started Josh can’t stop them and everything spills out in a messy stumbling string of disjointed sentences

 

“Look, I know that I’m expendable, I know that I don’t really contribute to the band but it’s everything to me. I promise I’ll work harder, I won’t let anything like this happen again, so please… please just let me stay?”

 

Tyler looks like he’s been punched in the stomach, mouth opening and closing again silently.

 

“Jesus, Josh, I would never kick you out of the band.”

 

Josh stares at him, a little unsure because this wasn’t how he imagined this conversation would go, no matter how many times he ran through it in his head.

“You…you wouldn’t?”

 

And Tyler’s sitting on the couch beside him now, eyes dark and intense and his eyebrows knitted together with concern and confusion.

 

“I couldn’t kick you out, there wouldn’t be a band without you.”

 

Josh looks up him because he doesn’t how Tyler is saying, doesn’t know why he doesn’t see what Josh does.

 

“But I’m replaceable, you could have any drummer you wanted and still be you. Twenty one pilots is yours, I’m just…accidental. Just lucky.”

 

“Josh, maybe it started out as my idea but when you joined you changed everything.” Tyler’s voice is low and breathy and strained like he’s trying so hard to make Josh believe, the truth in it is so strong it aches. “You made it yours too, sure I could play with another drummer but it wouldn’t be twenty one pilots without you. Anyways, why would I want to play with another drummer Josh? You’re my best friend, my partner. I need you Josh.”

 

And the words are the ones that Josh has been needing to hear are real now, hanging in the air between them and echoing in Josh’s ears like bells and even though they’re crystal clear he still has trouble believing them.

 

“You need me?”

The words are quiet as music playing from four stories down, they are a plea and hope and every piece of himself that Josh wishes he could cut out wrapped together.

 

“Yeah. I need you. And so do all those people out there, because you are worth it Josh. And they need you for the same reasons I do, they need you because you’re you and that has always been enough. Don’t ever forget that okay.”

 

Josh looks in Tyler’s eyes and he remembers the first day they met, remembers thinking ‘I want to share my dream with this person’. He looks in his eyes and sees nothing but naked truth and suddenly the bottom of a pool doesn’t look as appealing as it used to, suddenly he can breath again.

 

Before he knows what’s happening Tyler’s arms are around his shoulders, fingers digging into cloth and skin and he buries his face in his best friends neck.

 

“I was worried about you, you idiot.”

 

And Josh just smiles and laughs because it feels good to finally be free.


End file.
